A Place Called Home
by ariadne melody
Summary: "He's not you," she whispered.


There was something about the slick black sheets that made it difficult for Elena to fall asleep-they were too silky, too light. Too something. At least, she was pretty sure it was the sheets. It might have been the mattress. Or the pillow. Maybe it was just the room itself. Lying in Damon's arms, Elena couldn't sleep. She studied his sleeping face and then turned away, gazing at what she could see of his room. It was so different from Stefan's room, which was stuffed with books and journals, filled with articles and souvenirs from his travels, a room full of memories and moments whereas Damon's room was a blank slate, streamlined and bare; her bright red bra seeming out of place amidst all the black leather.

She felt restless. Despite the exhausting past few days (hell, the exhausting last couple of months), despite her body being tired and sore from hours of fucking Damon, Elena wanted to run, to feel her feet pounding against the pavement, her hear race, her face sweaty and red with exertion. She wanted to look unattractive, as unappealing as she felt at the moment.

Slowly and gingerly, she slid out of Damon's arms, somewhat surprised that he didn't wake up because he'd been holding her so tightly. As silently as possible she got dressed, slipped out of the room and down the stairs, out of the house, the chilly night air a shock at first. Thankfully she'd been wearing sneakers earlier. Even as she ran she knew where she was going, but she didn't fully admit it herself, kept thinking she would change course halfway and just go home. That didn't happen and soon Elena arrived at the old house.

Panting, she let herself in, half wondering if there was any chance in hell of getting some water or juice, any kind of drink that didn't involve blood. The room with the coffins was empty-well, empty of anyone who wasn't "resting" with a dagger through the heart and she wondered if Stefan had gone somewhere, if he was off hunting (she didn't want to think about what kind of hunting, didn't want to know what kind of blood he drank these days) or tormenting Klaus or whatever. He hadn't been at the Salvatore house, she knew that much. Or hoped that much. The coffin room creeped her out and she slowly wondered through the rest of the house; the stitch in her side's mostly gone but her breathing still seemed overly loud in the silent, haunted house. Were the spirits watching her right now?

She's not alone in the house, she could feel that the moment she stepped into the small upstairs room. Maybe he was hiding and didn't want to face her; she's not entirely sure if she wanted to see him. There's some stuff in this room, signs of him-some clothes, a couple of books, a journal; feeling nosy-more than that, invasive-she picked up the journal and flipped through it, finding only blank pages. Maybe these days he used invisible ink.

Elena turned around and Stefan was there. She gasped and then rolled her eyes because honestly, she should have seen that one coming.

"Enjoy sneaking up on people?"

"Enjoy snooping?"

She held out the blank book to him and he took it, tossed it carelessly aside. "You haven't been writing?"

Stefan looked at her, a strange expression on his face. "Yeah, it's like every time I pick up the pen I start thinking about all the terrible things I've done and suddenly the urge to write leaves me. Don't know what's up with that."

"You didn't seem to have problems with that before," Elena blurted out before she could stop herself. Stefan raised an eyebrow. "I read your journals, all of them," she admitted. She'd resisted the urge at first, telling herself that his privacy was important, but after Chicago, she devoured them, reading them late into the night.

"Poor you, subjecting yourself to all that misery," Stefan said. "What are you doing here?"

Elena shrugged. "I don't know."

"Damon's snoring get to you?" his eyes flashed. She knew he would have known, that he would have smelled Damon on her, that he probably had guessed something had been going on-was still going on-between them; hell, the whole town could probably tell. She couldn't quite tell if Stefan cared. The look of hurt and anger and, dishearteningly, lack of surprise quickly vanished from his face.

"He's not you," she whispered.

Another eyebrow quirk. "Thought that was the point. You want someone stable, someone not going off the rails, and surprise, that's Damon right now. Shocker. You don't want to be with someone who's deliberately fucking with an Original because that's too dangerous."

Yet Damon was working with Stefan, both of them going up against Klaus. "I don't know," she rubbed her head. "Damon... he cares. You were gone and he helped me, he cared about me and you... you couldn't. Even now I don't know if you actually care about anything other than screwing with Klaus."

Stefan's mask seemed to be cracking and he said quietly, "I don't care about anything or anyone else." The way he looked at her, the way he seemed to struggle with the words directly conflicted with his brusque statement.

"You care about Damon," she stated flatly. "Don't try to deny it."

"Brotherly love. What can I say?"

"You still care, but you're afraid to let people know except Damon."

"Thinking of majoring in psychology?"

"I don't know about college anymore." It's a shock to hear herself admit that out loud, to actually voice what she's been thinking about lately. She hadn't even written about it in her journal. "I don't know if it's possible anymore for me to have a normal life. Every time I try to have a normal life something happens and I... I know I want a normal life, or at least I think I do, but I don't think I can have one."

"You sent Jeremy away to have a chance," Stefan commented. "Why not just leave town?"

"I also sent Jeremy away so he'd be safe. Since I'm the human blood-bag I'm pretty sure trying to run would just get more people killed."

She wasn't imagining the self-loathing in his eyes, even as he smiled bitterly. "Well, if this whole thing works and we somehow get rid of Klaus, you and Damon can go anywhere and have a 'normal' life."

"This isn't about Damon, Stefan," she sighed.

"Really. You know, Elena, when I left I figured something would happen between you two. Hell, I even hoped it would because I knew Damon would protect you no matter what," Stefan's voice was furious and quiet. "He'd protect you like I never could, like I never did, and I told myself that I was never coming back to you. Or if I did come back I'd be far too damaged and deranged, that I'd just hurt you and you'd better off with him."

"You decided?" Elena can't do quiet and angry, she's shouting furiously. "How the hell is that your decision to make? It's my life, Stefan, my choice."

Stefan laughed, a harsh laugh. "Please, like you'd actually want to be with a guy who's killed hundreds of people or with a guy who fed from you and tried to hurt you. Oh, wait..."

"You have no idea what I what," Elena hissed, stepping closer to him.

Suddenly they were kissing, practically mauling each other with lips and tongues, barely pausing to gulp air before continuing. Their teeth clashed and their tongues dueled, and they couldn't stop kissing, kissing like they'd never stop. Greedily, Elena pushed off Stefan's jacket and yanked off his shirt, craving more skin and more contact and he did the same; when she paused to look at him (she hadn't exactly forgotten what his body looked like because that would be impossible, but suddenly her appreciation grew tenfold. Perhaps absence did make the heart grow fonder) he kissed her neck, his teeth running over the faint scar. Elena gripped his back, half-afraid that he would reopen the old wound, but he simply ran his tongue over it and moved on, his lips not stopping until they covered all of her neck.

They fell to the floor, wrestling and kissing, rolling onto the pile of Stefan's clothing; something he would come to regret later because he wouldn't be able to escape her scent. The rest of their clothing was finally stripped away and for a moment they paused, eyes running up and down the other's body before moving back, eyes locking together, staring-_gazing_ at each other and unwilling to pull away.

Slowly, Stefan lowered his lips to Elena's breasts and she gasp slightly at his tongue against her skin, her hips rolling against his. She couldn't stop touching him, could never stop craving him, didn't want to let go of him. They kissed again, his lips heavy and full against her, his hands sliding between her legs and she mewled softly, wanting more, needing more.

As they began to move together, torturing each other slowly, it felt like coming home. Elena briefly tilted her head back so Stefan could access her neck, but she quickly yanked his hair, signaling she wanted his lips again and Stefan wordlessly complied; one of his hands sought hers and they clasped, her legs snaked around his hips and they moved harder, faster, groans muffled by kisses. They came together, but it wasn't enough, once would never be enough.

Later they remained on the floor, kissing slowly, sweat cooling on their entangled bodies. Stefan's eyes closed and Elena desperately wanted them to open, wanted, needed, to see what he was thinking. She stroked his face gently and Stefan opened his eyes, nearly stopping Elena's heart because it was just like the night she fell off the bleachers, there's so much love there and it almost overwhelmed her, knowing someone loved her that much. It made her kiss him that much harder, hoping her eyes bore the same expression.

When the drug-like kisses stopped, Elena realized her hand hurt. She must have somehow cut it on the uneven floorboards and a thin trickle of blood was slowly streaking down her hand. Stefan looked at her hand and saw the blood and she froze, not sure what he would do, how he would react. Slowly, Stefan took her hand, cradling it as he looked at her, his eyes seeking permission; she nodded before she could stop herself. He brought her hand to his lips and she couldn't take her eyes off of him as he drank, his teeth scrapping slightly against her palm and strangely she couldn't stop a smile from forming on her face.

Stefan stopped drinking and looked at her, kissed her hand and then Elena pulled his face down to meet hers again, the passionate kisses starting again.

The morning sun had just started to faintly appear when they got dressed, almost shyly dressing in front of each other, sneaking looks and blushing slightly when the other caught them. Elena's cheeks felt like they had a permanent blush and her whole body ached from fucking one Salvatore brother and then the other Salvatore brother multiple times in one night; she might as well change her middle name to Katherine and be done with it.

No. She's _not_ Katherine. Katherine wouldn't feel guilty and confused about fucking both Stefan and Damon in one night; she'd just be sated and pleased with herself, and then she'd fuck them both again the next day.

Now Elena and Stefan were awkward together, unsure what to say to each other when before they would have been comfortable and smiling, still wrapped together, talking a little or not talking at all, his lips buried in her hair. Maybe that's how it had to be for a while, Elena thought. They had to figure out how to deal with the past months, what Stefan's done, what she's done, re-learn how to be comfortable again with each other. Comfortable just sitting together, her feet in his lap, comfortable napping together and kissing in public.

Then she thought of Damon, alone in bed, and she's confused, doesn't know what to think. She looked at Stefan and couldn't read his face, thought that maybe she had lost him again.

"I should go," she murmured and Stefan didn't try to stop her.

She's halfway out the front door when his voice stopped her. "Elena."

Why did she feel like crying all of a sudden? Trying to breathe, trying to look stoic and strong, she turned to look at him, surprised and yet not surprised by the emotion on his face. For a long moment Stefan just looked at her, like he was memorizing her features.

"I..." he started and stopped. "I'm..."

Without thinking, Elena went back to him and hugged him, the first proper hug they've had in ages; she buried her face in his neck and tightly embraced him, fighting back tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered. She had no idea what he was apologizing for, if he was apologizing for the past months, the past night, or everything, for rescuing her and falling in love with her, for coming into her life.

"I'm sorry too," she whispered back, again unsure about the words. For loving him? For fucking his brother? For not understanding how far he would go to save his brother, for not saving him from Klaus? Maybe for everything.

Reluctantly they drew away from each other, almost too shy and too upset to look at each other.

"Get home safe," Stefan managed to say and then he was gone.

She didn't let herself cry on the way home. The house was quiet, except for Alaric's faint snores; the constant music Jeremy played was gone and she missed it, missed her brother. Trembling she turned the shower on and stripped offer her clothes, shaking from emotions and pain, from sleeping with both Stefan and Damon, for not knowing what to do, for not knowing what she wanted.

In the shower she cried, remembering Damon's kisses on her skin, remembering how good it felt to be in Stefan's arms again and to kiss him, to feel him inside of her. Better than anything she's ever felt, deeper than anything she's ever felt before.

She curled up in the shower and cried.


End file.
